Tag Archives: shenzhen identity

thoughts from tianjin

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This entry was written in Tianjin on July 17.

These past two days, I have been in Tianjin, visiting in-laws. I also met Joel and Jessica of China Hope Live. My trip here has me thinking about how habit informs what we can see and experience. I left Tianjin more strongly convinced that there are many Chinas, not simply scattered over the country’s official territory, but also flourishing within the country’s diverse municipalities.

The first two impressions I had of Tianjin were of lack—no blue sky and not many tall buildings. Clearly, I was looking at Tianjin through eyes accustomed to seeing Shenzhen, where smog is the exception and glass skyscrapers the new norm, especially in Luohu, where I have been living. Moreover, these observations included unreflective judgments: (1) Shenzhen is cleaner and therefore better than Tianjin and (2) Shenzhen is wealthier than Tianjin and therefore more contemporary. Both judgments confirmed that my decision to live in Shenzhen was correct.

Only after a bit of acclimatization did I begin to see Shenzhen through what Tianjin might offer. In particular, one of the most important aspects of leaving Shenzhen is that it enables me to place Shenzhen within national trajectories, rather than within and against Hong Kong trajectories. This balance is one of the most difficult things to maintain when thinking about Shenzhen, which is both a Cantonese and a PR Chinese city. Histories of Shenzhen need to be written from both Hong Kong and Beijing, otherwise it is too easy to overlook either the role of policy or that of international capitalism in the construction of Shenzhen. Below are ways of thinking Shenzhen through impressions of Tianjin.

First, a literate rather than simply oral take on local history, as well as ongoing efforts to interpret that history with respect to national history. In Shenzhen, I usually hear the line “there is no history here ()” as self-serving justification for ongoing development and attempts to transfer landuse rights from village corporations to the state. However, in Tianjin the idea of no history is differently nuanced. On the one hand, Tianjin was one of the most important Chinese cities both before 1949 and during the Mao era. As in Shenzhen many important events have taken place here. On the other hand, many of Tianjin’s older residents went to school both before and after 1949. Indeed, Nankai University is located in Tianjin. These older residents can both discuss Tianjin with respect to Chinese imperial history as well as reframe the Chinese Revolution. Thus, unlike in Shenzhen, where local residents have experienced the effects of policy decisions, in Tianjin, some local residents have been recording, contemplating, and evaluating past events for over 100 years. In this sense, Shenzhen has history as a memory, while in Tianjin it is possible to use written histories to supplement oral history. Indeed, much intellectual work in Shenzhen entails documenting the present for future interpretations. Suddenly, the importance of “making history” seems more urgent in Shenzhen, and the concomitant responsibilities heavier if only because there are people writing history in Tianjin and so few of us in Shenzhen.

Second, time in Tianjin shows up the historic specificity of both forms and evaluations of globalization. In contrast to Shenzhen, where globalization is celebrated as the means of unmaking the mistakes of socialism, Tianjin’s colonial enclaves once proved the moral failures and social injustices that constituted Western imperialism. Indeed, one way to frame both Tianjin and Shenzhen history as moments in the history of the People’s Republic would be to look at the histories of these two cities as different efforts to use Western capitalism for Chinese ends. Another take would be to compare and contrast how foreign capitalists invested and inhabited these two cities. The dormitory system seems a wonderful place to begin such a study. Another would be to look at patterns of immigration. Still another might be to trace the conceptualization and construction of foreign enclaves, which have been reproduced in Shenzhen, not as concessions, but rather as neighborhoods that cater to foreign tastes, including private homes, English language schools, and leisure. Finally, one could also examine how Tianjin functioned and Shenzhen has functioned to prepare young Chinese to go abroad are remake China’s position in the world.

Third, the way that the Shenzhen experiment has and has not been picked up and redeployed outside Guangdong. While in Tianjin, I noticed the presence of China Merchants (招商集团) and Vanke (万科集团). It would be interesting to track these transformations through the presence of Shenzhen people in Tianjin, as well as Shenzhen financed projects. I know several Shenzhen architects and developers, who have projects in Tianjin. In Shenzhen, I hear about these projects, but have never visited them.

This trip has reminded me how travel helps counteract the mental numbing that all too often accompanies the repetitions of my daily routine. In the hazy light of a Tianjin morning, it seems even more necessary to organize my life to facilitate clear thinking, or if not completely clear thinking, to organize my life to make apparent the sedimentation of thought. Pictures of Tianjin index this process.

Today, after breakfast, we leave Tianjin and head to Beijing for the weekend.

snark, masculinity, and representations of shenzhen

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I was belatedly reading “Digging a Hole all the Way to America“, an esquire article on Shenzhen, when I suddenly realized how many of the articles about Shenzhen are written by men, who don’t seem to know anything about China in general and Shenzhen in particular. Instead, the articles consist of reproducing sarcastic stereotypes about the city, without contextualization and/or documentation. So on his trip to Shenzhen, Colby Buzzell watched migrant workers, mused about his Vans being made in China, talked with foreign men in Shekou, visited Working Girl Street, compared the quality of his made in America bicycle with the made in China thank God was stolen bicycle he bought in Shenzhen, and then returned someone’s hospitality by griping about how much he dislikes karaoke. The only person who accorded respect in his article was a Chinese interlocutor who told him what he expected to hear: most young people don’t know about 6.4 and Shenzhen people only care about making money.

I’m not sure why sarcasm–or snark as the case may be–sells in the conventional media. I do know that in Buzzell’s article, sarcasm functions not only to distance the reader from Shenzhen, but also to establish his authority to write about a city he clearly doesn’t understand. Indeed, sarcasm is a rhetorical devise that excuses the author from learning about the city through more conventional routes. Why should he bother interviewing historians of the city, reading published materials about the city, arranging a visit to the factories, and hiring a qualified interpretor, for example, when the city is so obviously beneath contempt? Nevertheless, Buzzell managed to write nine pages without any sign of investigative journalism. A simple been there done that sufficed to represent China’s 4th city. It was as if the Shekou expats’ sexist racism inspired the form and content of Buzzell’s article, which in turn does little more than justify learned and continued ignorance about contemporary China.

The repetition of sarcastic tone, superficial facts, sexist comments, and the wow factor in reports about Shenzhen has me wondering what about this rhetorical mode appeals to American authors and audiences. Who do we think we are when we mock what we don’t understand? Mockery is clearly a rhetorical devise for establishing dominance and asserting one’s superiority. Indeed, it is one of the most effective forms of verbal abuse, serving to dismiss other people’s perspectives and experience by asserting one’s own perspective and experience as the absolute standard.

Sarcasm allows Americans to maintain a sense of superiority in a world that is clearly changing in ways and directions not necessarily to the benefit of the United States. Perhaps this is the point: the world is changing and we don’t understand what it means for us. What kind of world leader would China be? Indeed, a sense of fear permeates Buzzell’s and like-minded articles. It as if America cannot remain American because more and more classical Americana is made in China, generally, but Shenzhen specifically. In this reading, any Chinese success harms the United States and any sign of Chinese failure helps us; suddenly, the best defense of America becomes an uninformed offensive against Shenzhen.

Sigh.

“I need a man…”

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The other day, I had lunch with two friends, Xiao Luo, an unmarried 27 year-old journalist who lives with her boyfriend, the other, Xiao Liu, a married 35-6 year-old designer, who lives with his wife and young daughter. The food was great. We were at one of Shenzhen’s “new concept” restaurants, this time new concept Sichuan, where Cantonese attention to detail and high-end ingredients meet Sichuanese delight in unexpected re-combinations of spice and chili. The conversation, however, was about dissatisfaction and stress. Both of my friends found their relationships to be unsatisfactory and stressful.

Xiao Luo struggles with insecurity in her relationship: “没有安全感” while Xiao Liu chafes under familial obligations: “压力很大”. Both attribute the problems in their relationship to gendered expectations of what a man should be. For Xiao Luo, the question is what a man should provide his partner. Materially, he should provide a home and reliable income; Xiao Liu agrees. However, he believes his wife’s expectations cannot be met. Xiao Luo said that she could understand his wife’s feeling of insecurity: you need money to send a child to kindergarten to prepare her to go to a good university abroad. Everyone knows how the cost of living is going up.

Xiao Luo also expects her boyfriend to spend quality time with her—eating meals together, going shopping together, talking about the day, and watching television . Again, Xiao Liu doesn’t disagree. However, he experiences his wife’s demands for companionship to be excessive, limiting the time he could be spending at work, with friends, and cultivating himself. Indeed, the problem is that if he were to meet his work and familial obligations, he would have little time left over for friends and self-cultivation.

In Shenzhen, successful and ambitious men are busy: they work long hours and are available to bosses and friends 24-7. These men will often go from one dinner with friends to another, or play mah johng all night. Others, like Xiao Liu have hobbies that are in fact second jobs. Xiao Liu makes documentary films in his limited spare time. Consequently, not going home is a source of friction in many relationships as wives, girlfriends, and children are last on many men’s list of priorities.

Another friend summarized Shenzhen’s relationship tension as the result of too many temptations. No one, she said, wants to stay quietly at home. Both men and women want exciting lives. The expression 男人花心，女人花钱 (men spend their hearts, women spend money) succinctly expresses what many say characterizes Shenzhen relationships. Men have many relationships and women spend as much money as they can. The problem with work and friends, however, is that women can’t complain if their boyfriends and husbands don’t come home. Work and friends are a man’s priorities. Xiao Luo agrees.

In this case, wouldn’t the best decision be not to have children? My friend immediately corrected me: all Chinese people want children. So what to do? She sighed. “In the end, the woman bears all the responsibility for taking care of the family. The men just want to wake up one day and have an eighteen year old son.” Again, why, I asked, not seeing the implicit value of children. If you don’t want to raise the child, why bother having it? My friend ignored my deliberate pig-headedness. That children are good and desired goes without saying. Instead she pointed out that what needs to be explained is why, I, who can have as many children as I want, don’t have any. I nodded meekly and followed her into the movie theater. Hancock is playing this week.

classical shenzhen

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Last night had dinner with Lai Guoqiang (赖国强), his wife and Miss Liang, a friend, who organized the dinner. Miss Liang is from Hunan, where she was an area (地区) first place (状元) and provincial subject first place in the college entrance exam. She graduated with a degree in French from Fudan University and now works in an international company. Mr. Lai was a Jiangxi district second place, but because his family was poor, he studied IT at a military school and was then assigned a job in Guangxi, where he met his wife. In terms of the gaokao system, both Miss Liang and Mr. Lai succeeded (出成绩).

Nevertheless, Miss Liang and Mr. Lai share a sense that their education failed to teach them how to be human (做人). They said that Chinese classical education prepared students to understand their place in the world, their obligations, and how to handle unexpected challenges. In contrast, modern education only prepared them to handle technical problems, but left them feeling empty. In different ways, both have spent the past decade trying to figure out how they can remedy this situation and help the next generation avoid a similar tragedy.

Mr. Lai’s quest began with the birth of his daughter. When she was three years old, he began having her listen to classical recitations. However, he realized that these recitations didn’t help children learn because there wasn’t a space for imitating the adult. Instead, Mr. Lai transferred these recitations from tapes onto computer and then slowed them down, leaving spaces in which his daughter could repeat after the adult. After nine years, his daughter can recite from memory, the Dao De Jing, the Yi Jing, many Tang poems and Song ci, in addition to many other classics from the four books and five classics (四书五经). Mr. Lai says that when children are young, they can memorize. When they are older they will realize (悟) the rich meaning of these classics. According to Mr. Lai, if students don’t memorize the classics when they are young, they have missed the window of opportunity, and will grow up in a state of ignorance similar to the one in which he finds himself.

This situation motivated Mr. Lai to develop a series of classics on CD that are recorded to facilitate memorization. The accompanying text has characters and pinyin. Importantly, this method of education does not require the students to understand or write the characters of the classics. Instead, the first step to learning is to memorize. And that is all they have to do. Individual lessons are organized to be completed within five minutes. Students listen and repeat (跟读; literally follow recite) for five minutes everyday, each lesson is repeated for one week, and then they move onto the next lesson. There is no pressure to recite, to write, or to interpret the texts. Mr. Lai has divided the lessons into three three-year chunks, so that after nine years, students will have the classics in their hearts, waiting to blossom as students’ understanding deepens over time. His company, 育心经典 is online.

I have been thinking about the implications of this method for pedagogy. It seems appropriate for texts that were originally transmitted orally, and indeed, were written parallel couplets that are easily memorized and beautifully recited. The goal, of course, is 变通 (biangtong: to adapt one method to different contexts) and (by implication) solve problems (处理事情). I remember when I was first learning Chinese in college. My teacher, Mr. Jiang told me that if I memorized poems, reciting them every morning, there would come a day, when I would be sitting on a park bench and a poem would come to mind. I would 悟 (wu) the poem’s 意境 (yijing, a word that has been badly translated as “artistic concept”, but seems to me to be more “the imaginary world” of a poem or painting). This experience would be both the interpretation and fulfillment of the poem; I would truly understand. At stake in this understanding of education is not simply a moral order, but also an understanding of creativity as being able to apply the lessons of the past to the present; this is biantong.

Nevertheless, I’m not sure how easily this pedagogy enables biantong. My uncertainty arises because this kind of learning too easily becomes rote memorization for tests, such as the gaokao and not because biantong isn’t a form of creativity often used in the arts and scientific discovery. Clearly, memorization is an important element of any pedagogy. The question is whether or not it is the only or highest form of learning. That said, the detrimental effects of the gaokao system are part of the problem that Mr. Lai is trying to solve through this turn to the classics.

More significantly, both Mr. Lai and Miss Liang understand memorization of the classics to be a method for rectifying current social problems. They see corruption, disillusion, cynicism, and indifference to be symptoms of a society that has lost its moral bearings. In order to live prosperous and happy lives (幸福), people must understand their place in the moral order. Once they have understood their place in the moral order, any job that they take, any role that they assume will be a vehicle for expressing this truth and society will naturally become harmonious.

I have discussed this conversation with two friends, both of who were educated abroad and have Master’s degrees. They agree that Mr. Lai’s understanding of and proposed solution to the problem of childhood education makes sense (有道理). They agree that to understand Chinese philosophy and history it is necessary to wu and the precondition of wu is having memorized the texts. They also agree that China’s social problems arise from a fundamental failing of the educational system to teach moral values. Generally speaking, they believe that the system succeeds in teaching fundamentals, but fails to prepare students for life.

So grassroots neo-Confucianism has come to Shenzhen, city without recognizable and therefore recoverable history. Ironies abound.

shenzhen photographer bai xiaoci

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this past week, my friend jonathan has been visiting. he’s doing research in shenzhen and has inspired me to get out of my usual orbit. on tuesday night, jonathan set up a meeting with with bai xiaoci (白小刺), a photographer documenting shenzhen on his blog, 抓拍城市／我所见的城市和城市化.

one of bai xiaoci’s more interesting projects is “i live in here (我住在这里),” a series of shenzhen home interiors and their occupants. definately worth a visit.

bienniale graffiti

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graffiti in shenzhen: high-end, high-concept, art

today walking around the biennale grounds, i noticed a graffiti exhibition. so again, as at tianmian (and it seems that some of the same graffiti artists have been commissioned here as a there), high quality graffiti gets shown in shenzhen as art, but does not exist throughout the city, which favors overpainting everything. this version of high-concept high-art urbanism is increasingly reshaping older industrial areas in the sez (关内). it is a version of shenzhen that grows out of and confirms the priority of architecture to the city’s self-representation. it also reiterates the importance of commercial art to the kind of culture that the city sponsors at the annual china (shenzhen) international cultural industry fair . it also fits that many of the folks at the bienniale are young and hip and artistic. i’m not sure if they represent a new kind of global elite, or it’s simply the case that the young hip and artistic global elite has finally landed in shenshen. graffiti pics here

jingjin flavors: authentic northern taste

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京津风味 breakfast team

there is a sociological approach to food. i could tell you that what’s interesting about “flavors of beijing and tianjin (京津风味)” on nanhai road in shekou (just between industrial roads 7 and 8, or diagonally across the street from garden city, where the shekou wallmart is located) is that tianjian people living as far away as in luohu and longgang will make a 1 and 1/2 hour trip just to eat a real tianjin breakfast. i could mention that at these decidely un-cantonese breakfasts, diners sit around and talk in tianjin dialect, reminiscing about life up north. i could also mention that the restaurant provides an unofficial meeting place for the tianjin hometown club (not quite an association). but instead, i want to rave about the food.

jingjin flavors serves up the most authentic tianjin specialities in the city and is well known on the chinese internet. according to the owner zhang hong, the secret to her success is the quality of her wheat products. she has employed seven tianjin cooks to make noodles, flat breads, oil sticks, dumplings, pot stickers, and bread crisps just like they do in tianjin. zhang hong believes that many of the tianjin restaurants that opened and failed in shenzhen, failed because they skimped on the wheat. “you don’t make money on wheat products, so many restaurants just made noodles or a flat bread. but anybody can do that. my long-term customers return to enjoy the tastes the remember from childhood, and that’s wheat. of course, the other dishes have to be high quality, but the real secret to gaining customer loyalty is a fragrant flat bread that takes them back to tianjin in a bite.”

for breakfast, you can order jianbingguozi (煎饼果子), soy milk with old toufu（豆浆加老豆腐）, or soy milk in gravy (with a swirl of sesame paste)（豆腐垴）, tianjin wontons in a claypot（沙锅馄饨）, sesame flat bread（芝麻烧饼）, and oil sticks (油条). go to jingjin flavors to satisfy every carb and salt urge you’ve ever had. it’s a delicious way of starting the day. it’s also a great way of discovering how some northerners are inhabiting shenzhen.

in the interests of furthering cross culinary understanding, i end with a photo of shenzhen’s latest campaign: don’t eat cat or dog meet, boycott cruel killing. stewed cat and stewed dog (separate dishes, not stewed together) are hakka specialities available in longgang. and again, i know people who will drive over an hour to enjoy the flavor of hometown food. i’ve made the drive with them and, if asked, will probably do it again. really. joys of anthropology of food are not to be underestimated!

运动会：　field day

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green oasis seventh graders come from the mainland, taiwan, malaysia, and india

so, yesterday was field day at green oasis. i enjoy field day for many reasons, not least of which is that field day makes the students happy, and happy students bring joy. nevertheless, what struck me during field day was the diversity of our student body.

facts that speak to the ongoing globalization of shenzhen. 49% our students come from outside the mainland (including taiwan and hong kong); 25% come from outside greater china (india and korea being the two largest non-chinese populations). for years, people have spoken of shenzhen as a city of immigrants (移民城市). however, what they meant by “immigrant” was “from other parts of the province/country” or simply “outsiders (外地人).” now the immigration situation isn’t so straightforward. most of these students won’t become chinese nationals. however, their parents work here for companies that are clearly here for the long-term. moreover, they have chosen to place their children in a chinese school in order to insure that these children will grow up into bi-cultural (mandarin-speaking) citizens.

this model is obviously different from the local chinese model, which educates with an eye toward helping chinese students become chinese citizens. it is also a very different model from the colonial model of an “international” school, which has taught euro-american or curriculums with an eye toward going to university in the u.s. or europe. those children live in china, but are not part of china; indeed, there is no intention to make them part of china. instead, the green oasis model entails educating international children to be part of china, without becoming chinese nationals. at any rate, we now have students whose mandarin is better than their (native) russian or spanish or korean or cantonese…

in many ways, the green oasis model echoes the larger chinese model of sojourning, where people (outsiders) live in other cities, but retain hometown identities. i’m beginning to think that sojourning increasingly enables chinese people to weave foreigners into the fabric of shenzhen life. so that the questions “where is your hometown (你的老家在哪里？)” and “what country are you from (你是哪个国家的人？)” become functionally equivalent in terms of social mapping. which is to say, that for many chinese, especially students, the u.s. and korea and india are no longer as foreign as they used to be.

field day pictures, which in addition to sharing childhood smiles, also illustrate how childhood has globalized with chinese characteristics…

诗歌人间：Poetry in the World

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poetry in the world

last night, the center book city (中心书城) hosted the first “poetry in the world” poetry reading. the event was produced by the shenzhen newspaper conglomerate (深圳报业集团) and the shenzhen publishing conglomerate (深圳出版发行企业).　the managing producers were jingbao and shenzhen center book city. fat bird was one of the assistant producers, along with shenzhen newsnet and feiyang 971 music radio. i mention all this because poemlife did not participate. instead, the powers that be in shenzhen’s cultural ministries turned to 诗刊 for literary endorsement. now, from the point of view of cultural functionaries, the move from poemlife to “poetry” is understandable. unlike poemlife, “poetry” is a well-established cultural institution with good party credentials. in contrast, poemlife hovers at the edges of party control in virtual space. lamentably these politics meant that lai’er editor of poemlife and one of the original visionaries behind “poetry in the world” did not participate in last night’s reading.

we missed lai’er because last night was something of a triumph for poetry in otherwise unpoetic shenzhen. “poetry in the world” brought together poets from diverse generations and spaces, who might otherwise not share the same stage. thus, elder poets luo fu (洛夫) and duo duo (多多) read, as did a younger generation of poets lei pingyang (雷平阳), wang xiaoni (王小妮), yang jian (杨键), duo yu (朵渔), and yu jian (于坚).

in retrospect, what strikes me is the contradiction of the shenzhen art scene. there is money to bring in china’s leading poets for one evening and then a discussion the following day, but not the money or interest to nuture more longterm events like monthly readings or open mikes. my doubts have been reinforced by rumors that poetry in the world might not continue; it seems that for some, once was enough.

once edited, i will upload fat bird’s readings.

fat bird update: more shenzhen culture

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in order to create interest in poetry and theatre publications, book city (书城) will be holding monthly poetry readings and performances. the series will be called 诗歌人间 (poetry in the world). 　

the original idea for the series came from 刘静文　(liu jingwen), a culture journalist at shenzhen’s 晶报. when asked, liu explained that the inspiration for “poetry in the world”, was the 99th anniversary of new chinese poetry. as a journalist, he has written on new poetry and interviewed many poets, however, he feels that it would be a pity to limit the celebratation of new poetry to the newspaper.

at the same time that liu was thinking about ways of bringing poetry to a new audience, managers at book city were brainstorming about ways of making poetry more viable. they decided to turn the store into a cultural stage and called liu to help them organize the event.

liu jingwen invited the　poet lai’er (莱耳) to help organize the events because for the past 8 years, lai’er has edited poemlife 诗生活 one of the more successful online poetry magazines in the prc. liu explained that the internet has become one of the main venues for poetry in the mainland. moreover, one of the most exciting things about internet poetry has been the variety and conversations it has inspired. when he started planning, liu decided to bring the energy and influence of poetry to the readings.

liu jingwen then contacted fat bird because he sees a natural affinity between the theatre and poetry. he used greek tragedy to illustrate how in the past, theatre and poetry were the same. moreover, liu believes that from the point of view of the audience actors are more interesting than poets. “poetry readings tend to be very much the same,” he said, “but actors bring different meanings and understanding to words. this will encourage more interest in poetry.”

the first event is 回归 (return). return in this context has two meanings. the first, describes the fact that many poets have had to leave poetry in order to earn money. return will be an opportunity for them to re-enter the world of poetry.

the second meaning is a tacit comment on the role of poetry in the world. throughout the socialist era and early years of reform, poetry was directly implicated in politics. this was as true of the poetry of guo moruo （郭沫若） as that of bei dao（北岛） and huang beilin (黄贝岭). however, lai’er and other contemporary poets now see a trend for poetry to return to its proper place: the private worlds of individuals.

there is of course an irony here. by organizing public poetry readings, liu jingwen is advocating the importance of poetry to everyday life. perhaps, as many would have us believe, the differences between the politics of “poetry in the world” and earlier socialist poetry are both of degree and kind. but perhaps not. the human heart may be as moved by the explicitly political as it is by beauty. when yang qian was a child, he was sent to a factory to learn from workers. during poetry writing lessons, his master taught the children that true socialist poetry came from the heart. he then recited one of his own poems:

党是母亲我是孩，一头扑进母亲怀，咕咚咕咚喝娘奶，谁拉我也不起来

(very loosely translated and without all the rhymes)

the party is mother, i her child
my head goes straight to her breast
gurgle, gurgle, mother’s milk
no one can pull me away

“poetry in the world” will be held on the second saturday of every month at 8:00 p.m. “return” is scheduled for november 10, 2007. in decemeber, “poetry in the world” will commemorate the 800th anniversary of the birth of rumi.